


American Heir(ess)

by Sharl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 19th century view of Rich Americans and British Peers, Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Historically Correct Original Characters, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-25 14:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12533204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharl/pseuds/Sharl
Summary: It was a truth universally acknowledged, that a penniless British peer in possession of title and estate, must be in want of American dollars.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was rewatching Downton Abbey again, and suddenly was hit by a muse. I just HAD TO WRITE THIS.
> 
> This AU is set in Victorian era, at the end of 19th century where British aristocracy was in dire need of American money. Obviously Downtown Abbey is an inspiration, but the focus of this story will be how Tony and Loki adapt to each other, despite their differences as an American and Englishman.
> 
> Oh, and there are no homophobic references because I can't just stand it. So let's pretend that sexual relationships between men in this era are perfectly acceptable, shall we? ;-)

**American Heir(ess)**

by: Sharl

Chapter 1

 

 

 

The private chamber was dark and cold, lighted and warmed by only small fire burning in the hearth. The fire would burn out soon enough, but Loki Laufeyson lacked the willingness to rouse himself sufficiently to add another log, despite a stack of wood had been placed nearby by one of the hall boys just this morning. Absentmindedly he wondered how long would it take until they had to start letting go of the servants, retrenching until only the utmost necessary type of servants remained.

 

In another week or two, the servants would start to gossip. Of course, his father’s creditors did not exactly make it easy for Loki to hide how _dire_ things really were. They had only given him one day before starting to send him detailed accounts of wide array of debts.

 

Loki drank his brandy in one gulp, watching the ice clattered to the glass with nice, soothing sound. In a matter of days his life had changed.

 

The death of Laufey, 6th Marquess of Exeter, had reached him exactly one month ago, when he was staying ( _hiding_ , according to his best friend, Thor Odinson) at one of the gambling clubs Loki frequented in Bath. The family’s solicitor tracked him down all the way there. Loki knew by then that there must be something wrong, since his father had obviously given up on trying to fix their broken father-son relationship years ago. Not since Loki found him bedding his mistress the very same day his wife, Loki’s mother, passed away.

 

 _May he rot in hell_ , Loki cursed. The familiar cold anger burn in his vein every time Loki remembered it.

 

His dutiful mother had waited desperately on her dying bed for her husband to visit her, fighting pain until finally she realized that it would not happen. No matter how many letters she sent, how many urgent messages reached him, she finally understood. Her husband did not care for her in the slightest. She succumbed to the illness the very next day. In his rage and grief, Loki rode after his father, barging in his father’s London house only to find another woman in his bed.

 

Their relationship deteriorated immediately. It had been ten years since Loki saw his father. Every letter his father sent him went un-replied. Not even when his father threatened to cut Loki off his will, or stopping to send him allowances. Instead Loki had gone to his best friend, Thor Odinson, son and heir of Duke of Cumberland, for help. Few months after that Laufey relented and he set up a trust for his son to do as he wished. But it had been eight years since then.

 

And now it seemed that everything would go to ruin. Loki’s meager trust would not even make a dent to his father’s mountainous debt.

 

Laufey had failed in his one responsibility in life: to keep the Laufeyson family fortune intact until the time his son would inherit the title and family estate. He had made a botch of managing the family finances, splurging on luxurious items and foolish investments. His mistress certainly did not help either. Laufey bedecked her in exotic jewels and expensive perfumes, giving her a lavish apartment at the heart of London.

 

Loki wanted to sneer at the irony of it. Even in his death, Laufey still preferred his mistress over his own son and heir. She would live comfortably for the rest of her life, those jewels would fetch a decent price; while Loki would have to spend his life in ruin.

 

He was now the 7th Marquess of Exeter, but like the rest of aristocracy in British empire, Loki had to face the reality. Depression in agriculture had cut most gentries’ income by half. It cost more to run a county estate than the estate could make for itself. New factories and mill towns started to appear across the country. A tide of industry was sweeping away aristocratic traditions and entailed modes of living. It had been that way for _years_ and Laufey had never thought to retrench. He preferred owing money to keep the illusion that everything was still as it should be.

 

What made mattered worse was the death duties Loki had to pay now that he was the Marquess. Laufey’s death had brought a staggering amount of death duties. The lands in Norfolk and Rutland had to be sold to pay it. Loki was now left only with the estate in Lincolnshire and a house in London. Both which provided significant employment for the rest of the county, and as much as Loki hated to admit it, he felt a duty as a custodian to maintain that tradition. He could not –would not sell the estate nor the house.

 

That left Loki with no choice.

 

“My lord,” his valet’s voice broke his musing, “Lord Thor Odinson wishes to see you.”

 

Loki nodded, gesturing at the valet to show his friend in.

 

Thor stepped into the private chamber with long steps and by god, Loki was glad to see him.

 

They met at Eton when they were both thirteen years old. Although contrasting in tastes and interests, they had both became best friends. Thor’s boisterous personality was an opposite of Loki’s sarcastic wit, but it took them both only few weeks to form a bond. They were nearly inseparable to the point that when the tutors punished one of them, the other would always be loyal and requested for same punishment. Despite the many mischiefs they had done, both of them were exceptional students. Loki was a House Captain and Thor was a House Captain of Games.

 

Therefore, it was only natural that when one of them was in trouble, the other was always ready to give assistance. But even then, there were still few things that not even the best of friends could help. This was one of them.

 

Loki had quickly realized that he could not ask Thor’s help this time.

 

One, Thor was not yet a Duke. Odin, his father, was still very much alive and thus, his son did not have any say in their family finance. And even if Thor was a Duke, Loki could not ask this of him. Laufey’s debts were just too much. Second, the Odinson family would need as much capital they could get to keep their family afloat. The time of industrialized world would not wait. They would need to modernize and change the way they had lived. Although unlike Laufey, Odin was clever to realize this early enough, it was still a hard task. It still remained uncertain whether they would survive the changing world or not.

 

Still, Loki was glad to see his friend. He needed as much advice as he could. Handing Thor a glass brimming full with brandy, Loki spoke, “We haven’t seen each other only for few weeks and yet you already miss me.”

 

Thor laughed. “Forgive me for being concerned, then. But really, how are you my friend?”

 

“As well as one could be, I guess,” Loki sighed as he flopped down to an armchair.

 

“You are not staying at your London house?”

 

Loki rolled his eyes. Of course he didn’t. He much preferred to stay at the club with his valet rather than the comfort of his London house. Traces of Laufey and his mistress were still very much there, despite Loki’s best efforts to refurbished the place. But then when there was no money, there was not much refurbishment he could do.

 

And so, he preferred to stay somewhere else, the club was an obvious choice. These clubs were designed to provide everything a home would have, after all. Dining halls, library, entertainment and game rooms, rooms for sleep, bathrooms and a study, even. A gentlemen’s club offered an escape, so to speak, especially for British’s upper-class men whose very lives afforded little privacy. The estate these men lived in often entertained guests for dinner, formal teas and parties. The club provided them sanctuaries. Like the one it provided Loki now.

 

“I preferred here,” he answered Thor curtly.

 

“How is your visit to Lincolnshire last week? Is the estate still desirable?”

 

Loki shook his head. “No one could reasonably expect me to live there. The place was a shambles.” The rugs were worn, some even still used only so that it could cover a rotting hole in the flooring beneath. The furniture threadbare, the plaster wall moldings dingy and cracked. The window glass corroded. It had not been repaired, obviously because there was no money and because Laufey himself did not stay there anymore, preferring to stay at the London house so that he could be near his mistress.

 

Thor sighed. “You need to acquire capital, then. A rich spouse would solve all the problems.”

 

The dark-haired man had to laugh at that. “And where do you think I can find one?” England has not had any rich girl in the last fifty years, none of the aristocratic family could afford to give their daughters large dowry anymore. All the family money is entailed between the title and the estate, and only sons could inherit. To be more accurate, all wealth would go only to the first son, as it was the way to keep the family money intact, so to speak. Second, third and fourth sons had to seek their own fortune. Some were successful, of course, majority of the not-heir sons sought employment in military or overseas. But surely their wealth would not be enough to settle Laufey’s debts.

 

So how in devil’s name did Thor expect Loki to find a rich spouse? He said this as much to his friend with a laugh. Much to his astonishment, however, Thor did not even crack a smile. He gazed straight at Loki, eyes unflinching and suddenly Loki understood what the other man had in mind.

 

“You are not serious,” he said in disbelief.

 

“It is the most obvious choice,” Thor shrugged, “unless you have a better idea?”

 

Loki narrowed his eyes. He tried to think of ways to refuse this… this horrible _notion_ but in truth it was perhaps the most logical choice. It was awfully simple and the more Loki considered the idea, the more appealing it had become. He was almost ashamed he didn’t think of it himself.

 

“And since you do not have any preference, you can have your choice of wealthy men and women there,” Thor added, knowing Loki had warmed to the idea.

 

It was true, though. From what Loki understood, America, the New World, did not have any inheritance complication like Britain did. Any children could inherit their parents’ wealth, regardless of gender and birth order. There were even occurrences where the wealth was divided equally between the children. And who had not heard of how wealthy Americans can be? Bankers, stockbrokers, heirs to mercantile concerns: tin mines, fur trading, cotton mills…the source of wealth for Americans were never ending. It seemed that almost anything can be made into money in the New World.

 

Surely it should be easy for Loki to find a rich spouse there. As a Marquess, he could offer the very thing that no other men in America could: a peerage title. Whoever he chose would share his title, as either Marchioness or High Consort if the person was a fellow man. A trip across the Atlantic and a few months in the New World’s provincial drawing rooms did not seem such a high price to pay for a lifetime free from financial worry.

 

“You are right,” Loki admitted to his friend, “It is a very good idea. Well then. Wish me luck, Thor. May my journey to the New World be fruitful, and I can get an heir or heiress with dowry large enough to save my crumbling estate.”

 

 

 

 

 

Little did Loki know, what awaited him across the Atlantic were not only money, but also something indefinitely _more._

 

 

- **End of Teaser** -

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg you guys! The response for this story is amazing!! It puts smiles on my face for days and days and days :)
> 
> Oh, I'm trying to keep everything as realistic as possible with what really went on during mid-19th century. However, you might find some details are not historically correct. Like [the hotel Loki was staying](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waldorf%E2%80%93Astoria_\(New_York,_1893), it was built riiiight at the end of 1890s but here it was up and running already. Sorry not sorry for that ;)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> (Apology to fellow Americans or British that might get offended for any cultural differences shown in this story)

**American Heir(ess)**

**Chapter One**

**By: Sharl**

 

 

 

 

There was _such_ an inquisitive fascination from New York societies about English peers, although Loki never quite understood why. Perhaps there was a certain curiosity on getting to know _how the other half lives_ , not only due to the fact British people in general was different than American, but also because English aristocracy was something else entirely.

 

Regardless of the reason behind, Loki had found that the news of him going to America was spreading like wildfire. Photographs of him looking stiff and regal, caricature illustrations of himself and dozens simpering attendants (badly drawn, if Loki might add), were plastered on every major New York newspaper. New York World, in particular, was particularly fond of it that they ran a guide dedicated to New York upper class society on how to _entertain_ a newly titled Marquess.

 

Apparently, the fact that he was broke and near penniless did nothing to deter them.

 

The moment Loki begun to make arrangement of his travel, letters and telegrams had come from all the way across the Atlantic. Invitation to come for tea, dinner and all sorts of hunting games arrived at the club Loki was staying. One letter even offered him a permanent room for him in their Newport chateau, claiming that it was his _for as long as His Lordship wishes_.

 

Loki had to write an apologetic refusal the next day. He might be near bankrupt and in need of a wealthy spouse but he was not _that_ desperate. Accepting the permanent room would be seen as an intention towards whoever pushy daughters or sons these rich Americans threw at him. The last thing he would do was to be married to someone he never even laid eyes on.

 

And so after three weeks of planning, conversing and inquiring, Loki Laufeyson set foot aboard the steamship with his valet –Quincy– and begun his journey from London to New York.

 

 

+++++

 

 

Gallons of ice water, great gusts of suffocating steam heat and constant dull roaring of the sea were all Loki had for company. After nine hellish days like these, he finally saw the much-told harbor of New York.

 

The sheer size and busyness of it was enough to almost overwhelmed him. It was said that there were more passengers and greater tonnage of cargo came through the port of New York than all the other major harbors in America combined. Loki could understand why. Steamships were waiting to make port. Workers and dock helpers were lining up to offer services. It was a systematic commotion, organized but chaotic at the same time, and Loki couldn’t help but thinking it somehow resembled a beehive.

 

And of course, the upper-echelons of New York would be the much referred Queen Bee.

 

Loki fought an urge to sneer. Despite the fact that Civil War just ended several years ago, America wealthiest citizens –at least those who resided in North and West side of the country– seemed more or less unaffected by the outcome. In fact, as a winning party, they grew even more prosperous after the war ended. It was ironic, really. But then again, history had shown that it was always the case. Winning parties would always grow richer than their counterpart.

 

He wondered if slavery was still an issue in United States. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert ( _God bless his soul)_ had abolished slavery in Britain many years back, condemning that such barbarian practice had no place in any civilized society. Loki himself never thought much of politics, but it was one issue he heartily agreed on. Now that the title Marquess of Exeter was his, however, he had to change this unpolitical habit. With the title came also a seat in House of Lords and parliament. It would be disloyal to the Crown if he remained ignorant on political issues.

 

Loki sighed. He had many responsibilities now.

 

But then again, every journey would start with a single step. And for him, that first step would be acquiring enough wealth to save his estate. The Burghley House would not pay itself, unless some drastic measures were taken.

 

 

+++++

 

 

Two days passed and Loki found himself in his suite at the Waldorf Hotel located right in the middle of Fifth Avenue. So far what he had seen of America did not impress him.

 

Yes, the hotel was so wonderfully luxurious, but it was so extravagantly decorated that it nearly bordered with vulgarity. The elaborate meals were poorly served, and wine was not a matter of course with dinner. These Americans drank wine without care, even pairing a red Bordeaux with white soup on Loki’s first dinner party. The elegant bedroom in his suite were heated to the point of boiling, the enormous, shiny bathrooms overrun with complex, unmanageable systems of faucets. There were bells, buttons and switches everywhere.

 

No wonder Oscar Wilde famously wrote: though one can dine in New York, one cannot dwell there. He agreed with Oscar Wilde very much.

 

Loki marveled how his valet managed to keep his wits about him. Quincy somehow was still able to look after His Lordship properly, finding things and fulfil Loki’s needs with as much politeness as he always was back home in England. There was never a hint of frustration in his valet’s voice, unlike what Loki was feeling right now.

 

His gaze fell to the letters waiting to be replied at the desk.

 

From the moment he set foot in the outrageously beautiful lobby of this luxurious hotel, the manager had eagerly waited for Loki’s arrival and practically groveled at his feet. At first the Marquess was pleasantly surprised, he did not expect to see such treatment. Few minutes into the conversation, however, it was apparent that this man had hidden motive.

 

The motive appeared in the form of unassuming letters. Make that a _stack_ of letters. Apparently it seemed that almost every upper-class family in New York had been very keen to meet Loki Laufeyson that they had trusted the hotel manager with letters welcoming him to New York even _before_ His Lordship himself arrived. And of course, they had given the hotel manager a tip in order to make sure it was _their_ letter at the top of the stack, the first that the Marquess would open. Loki wondered just how much the hotel manager made just from this alone.

 

From the way the man practically shoved the letters to Loki’s hands, it must’ve been a fine sum indeed.

 

However, two days had passed since then. Loki understood very well that he needed to reply to them soon. His excuse of being tired from the journey could only give him so much time. He had read all of them on his first night there, and more or less they consisted the same message ( _Mr. this and Mrs. that welcomed His Lordship to New York…would be honored if His Grace come for luncheon/tea/dinner…)._

Loki sighed. On one hand, he supposed he was thankful. His arrival made such a stir in New York society that these wealthy families practically begged him to marry their children. It would be very easy to choose just one with large enough inheritance. On the other hand, however, these Americans were so…different.

 

Bringing one home to England would create a lot of awkwardness. Would he or she be able to adapt to the way English peers live? They would be a talk in the country, that’s for sure, but then again Loki had always enjoyed creating sensation on his own. Laufey could attest to that.

 

He reached for the first letter. It was from a Mrs. Levinson who resided also in Fifth Avenue. She invited him for a dinner, but would gladly throw His Lordship a party if he wished to.

 

Loki settled for a luncheon instead. Luncheon was safer. It was unassuming, shorter than dinner, but still gave enough for him to glimpse how these New Yorkers were really like. Besides, he still did not know how New York upper-classes society was structured: who was who, basically. Luncheon and few well-worded inquires would be a sufficient start.

 

 

+++++

 

 

The Levinsons turned out to be more than informative for Loki.

 

Mr. Leonard Levinson was a Wall Street financier, a flamboyant and successful stock speculator who had made (and lost) enough fortunes that he earned the title “King of Wall Street.” Mrs. Clarissa Levinson was a lovely dark-haired woman and obviously very eager to see one of her daughters settled as a Marchioness of Exeter. She willingly shared and answered whatever question Loki threw at her. Halfway through the luncheon, Loki had known more about New York elites than even London society itself. Clearly, Loki had hit the bulls eye in his association with the Levinsons.  

 

Luncheon ended soon enough, and they all retired to the drawing room for tea. Loki hid a grimace when he saw how extravagant the room was. Luxurious, but yet again, not very welcoming. Plush upholsters, gilded chairs and tables, marble floors and yet it lacked the hospitable feels, unlike their counterparts in England. A grand piano, gilded with gold, stood in the middle of the room. It seemed that _everything_ in America was done to the extreme.

 

Jenny Levinson, the first daughter, sat down at the piano and began to play. She was quite excellent, but unfortunately she did not sing very well. But then again perhaps accomplishment was not a necessity if you have millions of dollars as dowry.

 

Between the too-dry scones and too-sweet raspberry jam, Loki was ready to bid his farewell.

 

They offered him a carriage to bring him back, but he declined, citing a need for good walk after such delicious luncheon. A triumphant look on Mrs. Levinson’s face had Loki imagining just how the woman would tell her ladies friends later, obviously flattered with the fact that _their_ family was the first one His Lordship had visited. The farewell ended with a promise of dance party in two weeks, held conveniently by The Mayor of New York in Waldorf Hotel where Loki was staying.

 

The walk offered him a solitary moment to appreciate his surroundings. Loki had only seen Fifth Avenue so far, but never really admired the stylish neighborhood properly. Mansion upon mansion lined the street overlooking Central Park, and as Loki walked, he found himself gravitating towards the large open space. It reminded him of Hyde Park back in London. Perhaps a walk there would be nice.

 

Twenty minutes later, Loki regretted that decision very much. His regret had started with a shout. “Look out!”

 

Loki was just about to turn his head when something literally crashed into him. The next second found him fell flat on the ground. _Bollocks_ , Loki cursed as his vision gradually stopped spinning.

 

“Shit. Man, you okay?” someone said in panic voice.

 

There was a hand in front of him and Loki looked up to see a pair of bright, inquisitive brown eyes. A boy. No, a young man, Loki corrected. The man must not be older than twenty-five. He dressed plainly, but Loki recognized the handmade stitching of a bespoke suit easily enough. The seams were perfectly straight and flat-felled. The cutting complimented the young man’s body, even the buttonholes were handmade instead of by a machine, to reduce the stress of the button’s shank. The cufflinks were simple yet elegant.

 

Obviously this man came from money, if he could afford a bespoke suit instead of ready-made sold at many luxurious department stores Loki had seen lining up Fifth Avenue.

 

He took the help and grasped the other’s hand, allowing the young man to pull him up.

 

“Sorry about that,” this stranger said as he bent to take Loki’s cane from the ground, “I was experimenting. Guess I need to install a stronger brake.”

 

“A what?”

 

The man gestured at the…instrument behind him that had crashed into Loki. What in the name of _Queen of England_ was that? Lying on the ground now, Loki could see that it had two wheels connected with chains and frames, pedals on each side, handlebars at the front and saddle like seat. It bore striking resemblance with penny-farthing back in England, but this one had wheels that appeared in same size instead of one wheel that was much larger. Perhaps it was another version of it? Added only with those peculiar American eccentricities?

 

Loki poked the instrument with his cane, earning him an indignant _hey!_ from the stranger.

 

“Stop that!”

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s…I don’t know. Haven’t think of a name yet. Just finished making it an hour ago,” the man answered with a shrug. “So, uh, you are not hurt right?”

 

Loki gave himself a quick scan from head to toe. Other than dirty specks here and there, he appeared to be in perfect health. No bones broken, no joint sprained, other than his pride little bit bruised with the fact that he, a member of English peer had been knocked down by a strange instrument. He confirmed his well-being and the stranger visibly relaxed. 

 

“Good. Good. Well, if you by any chance feeling unwell, please let me know,” he handed him a small engraved card. Loki was pleasantly surprised to see that he was given a visiting card instead of a business one. It showed that this man was indeed a member of upper-class. He certainly knew the distinction well enough. The name _Anthony E. Stark_ was embossed beautifully in the middle of it. The lacking detail of residential addresses or even a gentleman’s club beneath the bearer’s name amused Loki. Clearly, this man was well-known in New York.

 

Loki took out his own card. On top of his own name, it now also bore his title and his family’s coat of arms. The family solicitor’s brought a stack of them on the very same day he gave the news to Loki that Laufey was dead. It was this card, rather than anything else, that really made Loki understood: _he was now the Marquess._

 

It appeared to have different effect with this stranger though. The moment he read Loki’s card, those brown eyes widened if only for a fraction. The man blinked. And curtly nodded. “Well, then.”

 

The lack of surprise and _uncaring-ness_ of it bothered Loki more than he’d actually like to show.

 

 

**-End of Chapter 1-**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Penny-farthing](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penny-farthing) was a real thing! And yes, Tony invented bicycles as we all know today :-)
> 
> [This](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burghley_House) is Loki's estate that needed saving. A real ancestral seat for Marquess of Exeter.
> 
> The difference between [visiting cards and business cards](http://walternelson.com/dr/calling-cards) is here.


End file.
